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Two goats fighting on a narrow bridge over a waterfall.
Artist unknown.

Two goats once met on a bridge. One was white, the other black. The bridge was so narrow that neither one could pass the other. They stood for a while on opposite ends of the bridge and looked across at each other.

“I will not stand aside for you,” said the white goat.

“Nor will I for you,” said the black one.

“I have as great a right to the bridge as you,” said the white one.

“But no greater,” said the black goat.

They continued to look scornfully at one another, and neither would give way.

“We shall quarrel about this,” said the white one.

“Yes indeed, come on, then!” said the black one.

And then they rushed at each other, and butted at one another, and they both fell headlong into the river. And then they both had to get out again.

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Categories Folktale, Norway

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I was working on my forthcoming volume of legends concerning the draug, or sea draug, and rediscovered my notes concerning the description of the (as yet unnamed) creature, as early as 1704.

In December 1704, Reinhold Friderik Tønders, who was betrothed to Sophie Amalie Krogh (1686–1735), the daughter of the bishop of Nidaros, Peder Nielsen Krog, drowned at sea. Two poems were written on the occasion of his death, one by his fiancée, and one by Petter Dass (1667–1707), parson at Alstahaug in Nordland, whose parish was at the time presided over from Nidaros (Trondheim). Both poems use imagery that is reminiscent of later decriptions of the draug.

Krogh:

Excerpt of Sophie Amalie Krogh’s commemoration of her drowned fiancé.

The sea took the spoils
You fared the way of all flesh
Like Jonah, about your head
You wore a cap of kelp

Dass:

Excerpt of Petter Dass’s commemoration of Reinhold Friderik Tønders’ death.

But now you must contented be
with a coffin made of kelp,
and a shroud prepared of seaweed
enveloping your head.

Krogh’s reference to Jonah is interesting, for it transpires that both poets have appropriated a biblical image to portray their hapless drowning victim. From inside the fish, Jonah laments: “The waters compassed me about, even to the soul: the depth closed me round about, the weeds were wrapped about my head.” (Jonah 2: 5)

A similar description subsequently becomes widely associated with the reanimated sea dead, here exemplified by Peter Christen Asbjørnsen: “Instead of heads and hair, they had knots of seaweed.” (The Tufte Folk on Sandflæsa)

More to look forward to in The Draug, forthcoming later this year.

The Draug, a book cover.

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Categories Norway, Legend

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I have closed
my accounts
that were on
the Internet

and which
were certainly
datamining me
for Big Tech

Forgive me
they were increasingly
frustrating
and so much hard work

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Categories Misc.

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The troll whose silver ducks Askeladden stole.

I have two variants of “Askeladden, Who Stole the Troll’s Silver Ducks…” One of these variants has a heroine, whose “call to adventure” is a familiar tale of sibling rivalry followed by a crone in the forest. This variant is incomplete in that there are only two (not three) challenges; one of these, however, is to retrieve the sun from beneath the troll-wife’s apron, after which the tale ends quite abruptly. In other words, the family relations, the fact that the protagonist is a girl, and the sun as a possession of a troll are the points of interest.

The other variant has a conventional hero – one of three brothers. His helper is a goat, and instead of a magic bridge, he passes through a waterfall “that separates the land of the trolls from the land of the Christians.” This tale has three challenges, one of which involves a misspelled musical instrument, and a bit of troll cannibalism, before it ends with a wedding that the sketch forgets to forebode.

Neither of these variants is wholly satisfactory, but each has eye-opening elements. So what if I combine the records, and produce a composition using the interesting elements of each? Something similar has been done before, even by Asbjørnsen & Moe, so it’s not as if I’m cheating in an unprecedented manner…

I have made no decision yet, but would very much like to keep the girl, the goat, the waterfall, the quest for the sun, and the cannibalism. We'll see if I can keep my nerve in altering the source material to such a degree.

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Categories Folktale, Norway

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NKS 1867 4to, Ólafur Brynjúlfsson, 1760. Danish Royal Library, Copenhagen.
Odin riding Sleipnir, his eight-legged horse. NKS 1867 4to, Ólafur Brynjúlfsson, 1760. Danish Royal Library, Copenhagen.

A Profound Thought™ struck me when I recently re-read Thrond Sjursen Haukenæs’ Old Christmas Customs, and I have been reading myself into a rabbit hole ever since. I haven’t yet read enough to be able to unravel the question at the end of this post. I’m working on it, though I doubt the answer is out there.

We begin with Christmas in rural Norway, which by the beginning of the 20th century, was typically celebrated the same way throughout the country. The baking was completed in the first half of December, the beer had been brewed after the barley harvest, and a goat, a lamb, or a pig was slaughtered close to Christmas Eve, so that the Christmas meal should consist of fresh meat.

Now, when we compare these customs with the way in which The Saga of Haakon the Good says the Norse folk marked their sacrifices, the similarities are quite interesting.

It was an old custom, that when there was to be sacrifice all the bondes should come to the spot where the temple stood and bring with them all that they required while the festival of the sacrifice lasted. To this festival all the men brought ale with them; and all kinds of cattle, as well as horses, were slaughtered, and all the blood that came from them was called “hlaut”, and the vessels in which it was collected were called hlaut-vessels. Hlaut-staves were made, like sprinkling brushes, with which the whole of the altars and the temple walls, both outside and inside, were sprinkled over, and also the people were sprinkled with the blood; but the flesh was boiled into savoury meat for those present.

Quite similar in a number of points.

Of course, the different ways in which a community can celebrate a holiday are limited, and feasting seems to be widespread, but here’s the interesting bit: the yearly slaughter on Norwegian farms took place in the autumn – after the now fat billy-goats came down again from the saeter. The meat from the autumn slaughter was preserved (salted, cured, dried, pickled) for the coming year; why should meat eaten at Christmas be fresh?

So is this custom of slaughtering and eating fresh meat at Christmas a bloody remnant of old Norse religions, which may have survived through to the beginning of the industrial period?

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Categories Folklore, Blogging